Ain't No Flying Motorcycle
by sadge
Summary: Takes place after Harry and Hermione see Sirius off at the end of Book Three. Sirius and his mode of transportation have a bit of a fight. Involves dog catchers, angry mobs, and the occasional moment of respect between a bird and a dog.


This is rather strange for me…I usually stick to the darker side of that great furry mutt known as Sirius but somehow _this_ just appeared. It don't know what actually happened but I liked it. After all, no one really _does_ know what the relationship between Sirius and his mode of transportation are in those first few months of their company, but I get the idea that somehow the dog and the bird come to appreciate each other…eventually.

Disclaimer: So I don't actually own Harry Potter but let's say I cut you a deal…I borrow the characters and the plot for a little adventure and you don't report me to the proper authorities. Sound good? Great!

* * *

Ain't No Flying Motorcycle

It had taken only three days of Buckbeak's company for Sirius to broach the sensitive topic.

"Tell me honestly, Buckbeak. How long are you going to insist on this bowing? I mean we already have been introduced numerous times to each other over the past seventy-two hours, what with me falling off all those times the first night and then about five times a day when you flat refused to fly any further and threw me off. It just doesn't seem practical to me, us being fugitives and all, continuing in this silly practice."

Buckbeak stared back, golden eyes blazing. Sirius wasn't sure the hippogriff even had any idea what he was saying.

With a resigned sigh, he bowed again, idly wondering if this was the two thousandth or two-thousand-and-first time he had done so.

Buckbeak hadn't moved.

Their eyes locked together, neither blinking. Sirius was half bent still, waiting for the creature to lower itself. His eyes began to water. Did hippogriffs _ever_ blink? After a few more seconds, Sirius gave up.

"Ha, ha, very funny. You made your point, respect and bowing are still in. Let's go." Sirius turned away as though to brush off the sting of losing to an oversized bird.

Buckbeak still hadn't moved.

Perhaps the canary had died, Sirius thought. Died right where he stood. Those long flight hours were too much for him.

"Look, Buckbeak," Sirius started, hoping to appeal to the creature's softer side. The _canary_ snapped his beak and nearly took Sirius' hand with it.

Apparently hippogriffs don't _have_ a softer side.

"Fine! Be like that if you want! Just wait till those Ministry officials find you, then it's back to the cutting block!" Sirius stomped off in a rage.

There was no dealing with the parakeet! He was worse than Lily on one of her bad days, and that was saying _a lot_. Too bad there was no James this time to charm the nasty mood out of Buckbeak. Sirius had never at _any_ point in his life been good at that. Resolving himself to an unproductive and irritating day, Sirius set about finding cover for a shelter. If that canary was going to get temperamental with him, he'd just show _him_ who's boss!

Unfortunately, far from food or water, it seemed it was the self-same canary who held all the cards. Grass was not particularly appetizing, neither to dog nor man. And Sirius had not had a decent meal since – well, frankly since he had been a presumed innocent man. Azkaban food was terrible, and he hadn't even the mercy of insanity to help it down. Some people get all the luck.

But Sirius would hold strong. If it was too be a battle of wits and endurance, Sirius could last. The Mauraders weren't just some silly school group – ok, he admitted, they actually were – but they were more than that! They had been a band of highly skilled tricksters, sneaks and saboteurs.

Then again, that hadn't gotten them very far. One dead, one corrupted, one half-crazed, and one barely surviving. Perhaps the truth was it had gotten them too far; the worm had learned his lessons too well and the others had let their school made friendships blind them.

Ah, to remember the good old days…Was that a rat?

No it was only a wind in the grass.

Buckbeak was sure to come to his senses soon. Only just a little longer before that miserable _crow_ gave in.

- - - - -

It had been five hours since Buckbeak had walked off into the woods. Sirius was very _very_ hungry and still no food was forthcoming. He'd even settle for prison food.

As he lay there, wasting away, he called out to the ungrateful bird. "Buckbeak!" he cried, hunger making his voice weak, "Buckbeak!" Buckbeak was sure to take pity on Sirius' poor shriveled body. Oh the hunger! He could not even raise his weak arm to beckon the hippogriff forward. Sirius could see the canary peeking out of the edge of the forest, a single golden eye fixed balefully on the man. He obviously was _not_ interested in what the man had to say. Sirius was shocked. Did his eyes deceive him? Was the horrible peacock immune to his charms?!

Well that was _not_ going to work; not at _all_. Sirius glared at the creature.

In response, the hippogriff spread its twelve foot wings and took flight, stranding the pathetic fugitive in the middle of a wide forest.

And _that_ was going to work even less, Sirius though, silently cursing his misfortune. Of all the modes of transportation he had to pick the most emotionally unstable of the lot.

"That canary sure ain't no flying motorcycle," he thought out loud. All the breakdowns, the mess, and the unreasoning malfunctioning without any of the benefits.

Glumly he turned into the large black dog and traipsed off in the direction he _hoped _led to Buckbeak.

If that parakeet got him killed he was going to forget about the rat and haunt the hippogriff. Let's see what those snapping talons can do _then_!

With a gleeful growl, Sirius promptly lost himself in the woods.

- - - - -

A hippogriff is not a common sight amongst wizards or witches. Few have seen one outside of artistic representations, and those lucky – or _un_lucky – enough to have had that honor remember it all their lives. Usually in the form of a missing limb.

The town of Primrose Valley had _two_ such beings inhabiting their peaceful village. Together they had formed and peopled the town's only Support of Hippogriff Injuries Together. They did not have an acronym.

Mr. Tweedles and Ms. Lacey had escaped their hippogriff sightings relatively unscathed, losing only an eye and a three fingers combined. Unfortunatly Mr. Tweedles had been denied entrance to the elite gobstones club because of his missing eye and thumb, while Ms. Lacey's art career had been all but destroyed by her missing fingers. They were planning to co-write a book together about their encounters and gain back the fame they lost because of a chance meeting with a magical creature. However, they planned to edit carefully the circumstances surrounding the hippogriff bating which took place prior to their "great fall".

It was a Tuesday night when the Support of Hippogriff Injuries Together had their biweekly meeting. The cool summer air wafted through the open windows of Primrose Valley's primary school, which doubled as the town center, meeting hall, and court room as well. Primrose Valley was not a heavily populated area.

Ms. Lacey had been describing in depth, for what must have been the three-billionth time since the group's founding, her meeting with "the devil," as she referred to the hippogriff. It had been Mr. Tweedles' idea to conduct this meeting over a glass of fine wine and dinner, which he was presently enjoying as he nodded appropriately at Ms. Lacey's story.

Neither had noticed at first the soft thump of a large body hitting the roof of the school/government building/social gathering place. A few tiles broke loose as the large mass on the roof proceeded to walk its way over to the sky light. From the angle at which Mr. Tweedles was sitting, he could quite clearly make out the form of a birdlike head peering at the couple from the edge of the skylight. Golden eyes watched them intensely.

Mr. Tweedles could not quite place the face with the figure, or at least was at a loss until Ms. Lacey recounted how she stared into the beast's blazing eyes as it stood above her, ready to strike.

A hippogriff. A hippogriff was staring at him from the roof.

How…odd.

Mr. Tweedles shook himself to rid his mind of the image. A hippogriff was _obviously_ not sitting on the roof looking at them through the skylight. A hippogriff who was anything but a figment of his imagination would have slashed them to bits ages ago rather than coolly watch them through a window. When he looked back to the skylight, the shape was gone.

Ah well, he thought. Back to the wine.

- - - - -

Sirius was lost. For a dog, he had the _worst_ sense of direction. Remus had always been better than he was at this. James too. Not Sirius. Definitely not Peter.

That tree looked familiar. He was certain he had seen that tree before. Yes, he had. The tree most assuredly _smelled_ familiar.

So he was going in circles. That wasn't a new concept; quite often he found that if one went in circles long enough one was certain to break free _eventually_. Sure, there had been one time when he had wandered the Forbidden Forest for a whole weekend going in circles before a concerned Hogsmead citizen had finally found him, about twenty miles from the closest edge to Hogwarts. Sirius had ended up with a month's detentions from McGonagall for disappearing all weekend without any of the teachers knowing where he had gotten to, but Sirius had laughed it off. After that weekend, he never got lost in the Forest again. _Everything _in the Forest looked familiar after he had wandered every inch of its dark and winding interior.

Now _this_ forest was something different entirely. There was magic in it, no doubt about that, but it was devoid of any visible creatures. Sirius hoped this was a good sign, as there was nothing to leap out of the shadows and attempt to devour him. It also meant, unfortunately, he would be hopelessly lost for a while longer since there was not even a kind wood spirit to come to his aid.

There was a crack of wood behind him and Sirius the dog whirled as fast as his enormous, furry girth could manage to look in the direction of the noise. A cheerful squirrel sat innocently on a branch. Looks could be deceiving though…

He was unaware of the net which descended upon him until he felt it tighten around his body. He struggled uselessly against his bonds as the world started to go dark. His last thought before passing out was only a silent curse to the furry woodland creature which had distracted him at the _exact_ wrong time. D_amn that squirrel…_

_- - - - -_

He awoke some time later to a dark, dank cell which was much too small for any man to occupy with anything resembling comfort. It was an improvement on Azkaban though.

Sticking his wet, doggie nose out the chain gate that covered the front of the cell, Sirius was aware of many strange and wholly unusual smells for what he believed to be a jail. If his nose was not deceiving him, which it rarely did, there was a great quantity of _dogs_ residing in this facility.

Which could only mean one thing.

Sirius was at the pound. The Pound. A bloody miserable place for common everyday dogs – with which Sirius most emphatically did not associate himself – and the absolute worse place for an Animagus on the run to be caught.

Damn that squirrel and damn that parakeet.

Sirius whined pathetically hoping someone would give him a bit of attention, but it seemed the keepers of the pound were as responsive to their inhabitant's cries as any dementor of Azkaban. _Well, if that's how they're gonna be…_

Sirius threw his full body weight against the fencing, which rattled on its hinges. Sirius was a very large dog, the size of which was rarely seen in any pound, magical or muggle. The fence continued to creak against the pressure and it wasn't long before a man hobbled over to Sirius' cell.

"Shaddup, ya stinkin' mutt!" he croaked in a deep voice. The man looked as if he were part dog himself, and his left leg was bent in an awkward position. Sirius wondered if it had been tramped in a mass exodus of dog-kind. He walked with the aid of a cane, which he now used to poke Sirius through the chain-link fence. Sirius' only response to such an action was to yank the offending stick out of the man's hand with his teeth.

The man hobbled off in a huff and returned with a large chain leash. Sirius suspected that whatever the man had in mind, it could only be bad. There was a sneer on his face that reminded Sirius sharply of Mr. Filch. Perhaps they were related.

Despite his frail-seeming build, the man was quite capable of rendering Sirius the dog helpless and tethered to a large steak in the yard. While this might seem a nice change to the cell in the pound, it was most assuredly _not_.

It was raining. Perhaps _tempestuously down-pour_ was a better choice of wording, or even _near-hurricane conditions_.

Whatever the case, Sirius spent the night as a cold, wet, miserable, common dog.

Ah, the glory of life as a fugitive!

- - - - -

Buckbeak's talons clicked on the roof lightly. His hooves however made loud clomping noises with each step he took.

He was hungry. Hagrid never let him get this hungry when he used to live at Hogwarts, and now that he was a "fugitive" - as Sirius so often called them - he had not gotten one decent meal.

That was one of the reasons he had left Sirius in the forest. Perhaps the major reason. Sirius probably thought it was the bowing, which was just as well for Buckbeak. That was in actuality an event of very little significance to the hippogriff. It was simply the principle of the whole respect business that was much more important to him. Not that Buckbeak paid much attention to the bowing procedure after the first twenty times, but if that human started believing he could get away with dispensing with formality, he had another thing coming.

But the food – that was what was important.

Buckbeak could see through the window on the roof – who would put a window on the roof anyway? – a delightful meal which the two humans beneath him were enjoying while he was forced to watch in the cold rain.

That would _not_ do, not at all. With barely any effort, Buckbeak spread his wings and soared lightly to the ground. Witnesses to his flight were not any concern since with the rain and the late hour, one would not have been able to see a hand in from of their face. That is, unless they were inside, as Buckbeak dearly wished he was.

Lifting a clawed talon to the handle of the door, Buckbeak turned the knob and nosed his large beak in. Instantly the glorious smells of fine Italian cooking overwhelmed him. Forget the _dog_; a real meal was worth infinitely more than that stinking human!

Unfortunately for Support of Hippogriff Injuries Together, their sitting positions faced them away from the doorway and the would-be dinner thief.

- - - - -

Ms. Lacey was reaching the critical moment of her story when she detected a strange scent in the air. At first she believed it to be some sort of cheap after shave Mr. Tweedles had used in an attempt to freshen up a bit. As a few more minutes passed, a vague danger warning started going off in her mind.

It smelled like wet dog. No – wet _horse_. Perhaps the beasts next door had broken out again. What was that, the third time this week? They should really look into some sort of behavioral training for those creatures…

But still there was something else. Something…avian. She was at a loss as to the source of _that_ smell when she felt a warm and heavy breeze on the back of her neck.

If that Mr. Tweedles is leering over me again, I swear I'm going to…

Except, Mr. Tweedles is sitting right there beside me, so drunk on his cheap wine that he probably doesn't even notice that I stopped talking.

She turned slowly, heart racing. After the "incident" she had become a rather fainthearted individual, sticking to sappy romance movies and "chick flicks" over the more daring horror films, such as the one she was sure this scene had been torn from.

She rotated in her seat to find herself face to face, or eye to eye with "the devil" itself. A high pitched squeak came out of her throat before she collapsed, blissfully unconscious and unable to feel the painful mauling she was certain would follow.

Mr. Tweedles stared at the hippogriff, eyes unfocused and clutching his glass of wine which spilled over the side. Ms. Lacey was right; he was indeed _very_ drunk on his cheap wine.

- - - - -

Buckbeak ate his fill. His initial opinion had been correct; the meal was of excellent quality. Who would have believed such culinary skill of this backwater town?

But now that his hunger was satiated, it was time for a rest, a proper sleep like one he had not had since his time in Hargid's hut. A bed would be a good start, and that was something the multipurpose room used by Support of Hippogriff Injuries Together lacked.

He would have to go elsewhere. One thing was for certain though; he was _not_ going back into the forest. He hoped the dog was lost and miserable in the rain tonight. That would put him in his place.

So he left the dry dwelling for a more comfortable place to spend the night. The rain had let up a bit, but it was still too wet on Buckbeak's feathers. In the black of the night, he could make out the yellow glow of several prospective residences. The far one which resembled a small mansion might do…It was perhaps large enough for his tastes.

Now just to distract the owners long enough to get inside. _Some of that lowdown dog must be rubbing off on my after all._ Buckbeak moved slowly through the streets, hugging the walls of the surrounding buildings in an effort to stay dry. After about twenty minutes, Buckbeak was not certain his strategy was working. He was quite damp and not nearly close to his destination. It was unfortunately at that precise moment that the two members of the Support of Hippogriff Injuries Together woke from their terrified unconscious states. With a loud piercing shriek, the two double handedly alerted the entire town of Primrose Valley to the presence of a dangerous creature within their borders. Had Buckbeak's vocal chords been capable of it, he would have groaned.

Why could nothing go right for him?

- - - - -

The rain had not let up and Sirius was beginning to become hypothermic. Even in Azkaban he had not been subjected to these conditions. It was cold, yes; it was wet, yes. Very rarely was it both to _this_ degree. When that rotten man came around again tomorrow morning, Sirius had _every_ intention of letting him know precisely how miserable the night had been. Preferably in the form of further bodily harm.

In the distance, Sirius' sensitive dog ears heard a sharp squealing. It resembled the noise various first years made when the Marauders had let loose on one of their Start-Of-Term prank celebrations. They had always been outstanding, and the cries of terror had been music to his devilish ears…

But there were no ickle first years around today, especially not in this weather. So Sirius began to wonder where all the fuss was coming from. A large shape passed overhead and the shaggy dog got an inkling of the problem. Moments later the cries of "Hippogriff! Kill it, kill it!" could be clearly head and Sirius knew for certain.

It seemed the canary had not had much luck on his own either. Serves the pigeon right, he thought.

Suddenly the night seemed a _lot_ better. Knowing the cause of his misery was out there in the rain, chased by an angry mob, would make _anyone_ happy.

- - - - -

Mr. Tweedles had lost sight of the beast. After all it was dark and rainy. An honest slip up. _I really wish I could go home…But no! I must stand firm and bring this terror to justice before it claims innocent lives!_ With a slight puffing of his chest, the brave and daring Mr. Tweedles continued the hunt.

Beside him, Ms. Lacey's resolve was wavering as well. They could come back in the morning perhaps, try then. Preferably not too early; a lady needs her rest. Can't have her rolling out of bed and expect her to look presentable. Although it might be an improvement to how she must have appeared at the moment. She could just imagine herself, a sopping wet dog with her hair plastered to her head. _Yes a wet dog…Wet dog…Dog…_

A dog…That could be just what they needed! Not suggesting that Ms. Lacey act out the part, but rather that they borrow one from the local shelter. They could find the hippogriff, alert the proper authorities and be back home in no time! It was so brilliant, Ms. Lacey was overwhelmed by her absolute genius.

And lucky for the two wandering individuals, there happened to be a dog kennel nearby, with a certain black mutt confined to the outside yard for bad behavior. Sirius was just ripe for the stealing.

* * *

Well that's half or so of the great Primrose Valley Adventure as it later became known as…Let's hope school and work don't conspire against me as in all of my other fics…Damn obligations!!!


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